Unbreakable
by x Varda x
Summary: Neal's captors insist that he has a debt to repay. Rating is for violence and torture. Gen.


**Title:** Unbreakable  
**Rating: ** R  
**Genre: ** Gen, H/C  
**Words: ** 2156  
**Characters: ** Neal, Peter, El  
**Warnings: ** Violence and torture oh my  
**Summary:** Neal's captors insist that he has a debt to repay.

**A/N: ** Written for **dreamsofspike**'s prompt on **collarcorner**. Fic is equal parts hurt and comfort.

xxx

Neal was undercover trying to smoke out the boss of a ring of bank robbers. Unfortunately he had done just that and the person leading the show was not who he had expected.

"Why, if it isn't my old friend, Neal Caffrey!"

Neal smiled, "Louis Lorenzo! It's been a long time since our paths crossed."

Lorenzo didn't smile back as he exchanged a meaningful glance with the two men flanking him. "You stole a lot of money from me, Caffrey."

Neal kept the smile firmly in place despite the alarm bells ringing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Pay it back double and I'll think about killing you quickly."

xxx

Neal knew he was in a lot of trouble the moment he had opened his eyes. Well, he had known it since just before he'd been tasered into submission and tossed in the back of the car. The rest of the excursion was missing from his memory after at some point he'd been zapped again and had finally, _mercifully _passed out.

Now he didn't think mercy was going to have a big part to play in what was about to happen. He was lying on a cold, hard floor in a large, empty warehouse with his hands zip-tied in front of him and his jacket and tie were missing. His once immaculately clean and pressed white shirt was grubby and creased and even torn a little from where he must've hit the ground or maybe even been dragged. Gentle testing revealed that his feet had also been tied together. He had a few lockpicks secured about his person, but his captor must have known that Neal was an expert picker and that they'd rather not let him escape so easily. Neal couldn't get out of zip ties. Especially not ones pulled so tight that they dug into his flesh.

The worst of it was that his chest was hurting. Not just a little, but _really_hurting - his sore ribs vehemently protesting with every breath he took. He certainly didn't remember getting a thorough kicking, but he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious.

At some point they'd taken his watch and the only link he had to backup. No one had yet come to rescue him and that thought was like a lead weight of dread in the pit of his stomach.

"It gets better and better," he mumbled with a slight tremble in his voice.

xxx

The agonising pressure over Neal's chest eased and he gulped down air before the encroaching blackness took him away. He had both felt and heard as something that was probably quite important inside him had broken with a sickening pop and the pain redoubled.

_"Breathe… breathe," _Neal thought. But each ragged pull of air was as difficult as forming coherent thoughts where he lay. Lorenzo stood over him with his foot firmly placed on Neal's injured chest. The zip ties had been cut, but Neal wasn't going anywhere.

"Tell me what you did with my money and it will all be over, Neal."

"Yeah, you'll ki... kill me."

"Don't be like that."

xxx

At some point his captors stopped looking in Neal's direction long enough for him to get up on his hands and knees and slowly crawl along the floor. He made it halfway to the door in the distance before he was kicked in the stomach so hard that it flipped him over onto his back.

Lorenzo frowned angrily and asked again, "Where is my money? What did you do with it?"

Neal nearly broke right then with the hated foot hovering over his bruised and broken chest.

He turned his face away as he spoke quickly, "I never even had a chance to steal any money from you! I wasn't the only one working for you! It could've been any of the others."

Neal could probably pay the ransom, but there was no guarantee that he would be alive for much longer once the money was in the hands of his torturer. If he held out for long enough, he trusted that Peter would use the full might of the FBI to find and rescue him, but how much more of this he could take, he wasn't sure.

"Give me my money."

Neal shook his head.

The boot descended.

Neal screamed.

xxx

It was a few hours of frantic action before the traffic cams got a hit on the car that had taken Neal.

"It's a large warehouse near the waterfront," Diana said. "One entrance and exit."

"Makes it tricky for SWAT, but easy for us to trap them," Peter said. "Okay, let's go and get Neal back."

xxx

The pain consumed Neal like a fire burning him from the inside out. It was lights popping before his eyes until he no longer even felt like a human being, but just an animal, trapped and tormented. He had become a ball of hurt and nothing else existed – there was no air, no time - no other senses even mattered anymore.

After an eternity, it gradually eased off and then he realised that his streaming eyes were closed tightly, and he wished that the darkness of his eyelids would hide him from his assailant. The sounds he heard were actually his own voice which was nothing but ceaseless hoarse whimpers on every strained breath which sent further stabbing pains and tremors throughout his body.

There was a frightening metal taste in his throat and blood on his lips as he choked and coughed painfully. Rough swiping of his hand over his mouth came back bright red when he peered down at it. "Not good," he whispered. He didn't trust himself to speak any louder. Curling a protective hand around his chest didn't help with the wheezing or the pain or the fear. "Please... stop. I… can't…"

"Neal?"

There was something brushing against his face, pushing the hair back that he hadn't realised had flopped down over his eyes.

"Where's that ambulance?"

Neal blinked in a daze at the familiar voice that meant _safety _now, but had once meant something else. "Peter?" There was pressure on his arm, but it didn't hurt.

"Neal, it's okay. I'm here."

"I didn't break."

"Don't speak."

Neal felt it was too important for Peter to ignore him. "Didn't give him… anything."

"Shh."

Neal coughed again wetly, but he was too weak to scream or flinch against the pain.

Xxx

Neal sat propped up in bed in the hospital. It had been several days since his ordeal and breathing was still painful, even with all the drugs he was on. Bandages were wrapped around his chest and an IV line pinched the back of his hand.

"Three broken ribs and a punctured lung, Neal," Peter said with a sigh as he sat down in the chair beside the bed.

Neal grinned automatically. It didn't matter how lousy he felt, he could always smile. "What can I say? His foot really liked me."

Peter was looking angry and Neal tried not to flinch. "Why didn't you use the safeword? We knew you were in trouble."

"I can fight my own battles."

"Clearly not."

An uncomfortable silence descended between them. Peter glanced over at the bedside table to where there was the sketchpad and pencils that Moz had brought as a gift. Before Neal could stop him, Peter reached over and grabbed the pad.

"No… don't," Neal said quietly. But it was too late.

Peter flicked through the pages and his frown deepened as he reached the end. "It's blank."

Neal shut his eyes sadly. "I know."

Peter put the pad back on the table and then reached over and gently squeezed Neal's upper arm. "Hey, it's okay. Give it some time. I hear they're discharging you today."

Neal looked up hopefully.

Peter gave him a small smile. "I spoke to El and we agreed that you can come and stay with us in the guest room until you're back on your feet."

Neal smiled and for the first time since he had been taken, he felt the smile on the inside too.

xxx

Peter looked over at Neal where he was dozing on the couch. The sketchpad was clutched in his hands and as far as Peter knew, still blank. Neal looked pale, but some colour had returned to his cheeks since Peter had rescued him from his ordeal.

The sight of Neal lying on the floor with Lorenzo's foot pressing into his chest while Neal choked on his own blood was going to haunt Peter for quite some time.

Lorenzo was now dead after being shot by Peter and the thugs with him would be locked away for a long time, but it didn't help to ease the memories burned into his mind.

El sensed his thoughts and looked between Neal and her husband with worry. "Will he be okay?"

Peter looked over at her. "I think so. I know from experience that you can knock Neal down over and over again and he'll always come back with a smile."

"But isn't that what he does?"

"I won't claim to be an expert on the inner workings of the Caffrey psyche, but this was a hell of a hit, even for him."

El furrowed her brow. "What if he can't bounce back from this one? It's not like he's ever experienced this before as far as we know."

Neal coughed quietly and his face screwed up in a grimace.

El fetched a glass of water and some of the painkillers the hospital had given Neal, then helped him to sit up while he took them.

"Thanks," he said without a smile.

El fluffed up the cushions behind Neal and kept a hand on his back. Neal might be able to hide his feelings behind a veil of confidence, but he couldn't do anything to mask the trembling El felt through her hand.

She looked back at Peter and he understood.

Peter brought a chair over for El and one for himself and they sat facing Neal on the couch. The tremors had spread to his hands and he tucked them under the sketchpad he held protectively on his lap to hide it.

"How are you doing, Neal?" El asked gently.

"A bit sore, but I'll get better."

They sat quietly together for a few minutes. After a while, Neal looked away and said under his breath, "I was terrified. I… I thought he was going to kill me."

Peter rested a hand on Neal's upper arm while El took Neal's hands away from the sketchpad and held them tightly.

Neal continued, "Running a con is easy. I talk the talk and they do what I want them to… usually. But Lor…" he swallowed and frowned. "Lorenzo, he didn't give me a chance to speak or reason with him. I… I…" He blinked rapidly several times and stared into his lap.

"It's okay, Neal," Peter said softly. "You held out until we got there and you didn't let him kill you."

El said, "What he did to you was awful and it's fine _not _to be okay with it."

Peter glanced at her then back at Neal. "But the most important thing is that you're here now and Lorenzo isn't. That makes you better than him in so many ways."

Neal sniffed and then looked up at Peter with a sly smile. "Not in every way?"

Peter smiled back. "No, Neal, not quite _every _way."

Neal grinned as El let go of him to swat Peter's arm. Neal said, "As long as I'm not losing my edge."

Peter eyed the sketchpad. "Drawn anything yet?"

"Yes, actually."

El smiled. "Can we see?"

"I'd rather you didn't really," Neal said, looking faintly embarrassed.

Peter smirked. "What's this, Neal Caffrey, not showing off his artwork?"

"Okay then." Neal reluctantly let Peter take the sketchpad and flick through.

Peter had been half expecting the pad to be filled with horror and images of death considering what Neal had been through and how he might like to express himself at this time. But instead, he was pleasantly surprised to find fantastic sketches of himself and El and Mozzie, and even Satchmo was tucked away in there with what looked like a smile on his face as his tongue hung out.

"These are really good," El said.

Peter cleared his throat pointedly as he turned the page to find a rough sketch of Van Gogh's Sunflowers. "I hope this one isn't practising for a future event."

Neal smiled. "I have to keep up with the game."

And then Peter knew that Neal was going to be all right. The man might be hurting and unhappy and traumatised now, but with time and support he would eventually be back to his normal self, slightly damaged perhaps, but able to hide it along with all the other hurts he had endured.


End file.
